


The Wolves of the Underworld

by orphan_account



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), game of thrones
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the Roaring '20s and the city Westeros is the center of the underworld. Ned Stark has returned to it, with his children by his side. But it's a dangerous place and everyone has secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wolves of the Underworld

Smoke has been slowly filling up the room since the beginning of the evening, and it’s starting to feel like you could swim in it, and the orange tips of the cigarettes that it’s coming from form constellations in the gloom. It makes the place feel even closer, but muffles the sound so it’s almost impossible to hear the person opposite you. They keep on smoking, even though all they need to do is breath in.  
‘They’, is near everybody in the bar and, by default, near everybody that matters in the city. It’s not a typical evening in the King’s Landing Lounge. All the mob leaders are here, and you need to be infamous as well as moneyed to get past the two large men standing just outside.  
It is an annual event, but Eddard Stark has not been here for many years. He is the most honourable man in an entirely dishonourable business, a business he hates greatly. It is his honour that means he is here this evening, honour and loyalty. He is not quite sure what has brought his daughters, however, or why he allowed them to come, but there they sit, one on each side of him, far too young and delicate to be involved in all of this.  
Sansa is his eldest daughter - an elegant and traditional girl of 19. She has her mother’s beauty, but tonight she is lit up with an excitement that makes her radiate, even through the fog of cigarette smoke. On his other side is Arya, three years younger, and squirming as she sits. It is because of the same excitement as Sansa; she is just unable to show it such a poised manner. Her hair is newly cut short, as per the latest trend, and she wears it well, thinks Eddard, although Sansa is disgusted by it.  
At least they have stopped arguing for tonight, joined in mutual anticipation.  
There is no formal start to the meeting; there is no formal meeting at all. It is just men in dark suits, gliding to the tables of their allies and enemies and pretending to find a solution to any problems there are between them. There are no friends in business. Ed has distanced himself from business as much as he can, and it is for a friend that he is here tonight; his oldest and best, one Robert Baratheon. He has not arrived yet, although Eddard can see his wife lounging in the corner with her brother, two impossibly blond and beautiful figures in the gloomy room.  
“Do you know everyone, da?” asks Arya, tugging on Eddard’s sleeve. He gives a slightly grim chuckle.  
“A fair few, I suppose.” To be honest, the crowd hasn’t changed too much since the last time he was here, although the leading family of the time, the Dragons, are gone now. He’d heard some rumours – a quickly ordered boat, a rented flat in England – but he didn’t care, truth be told.  
Sansa had turned her attention firmly to her father, enthusiastic to find out about those around them. “Tell us who’s important, daddy,” she said “I want to know everything.”  
Ed laughs again, with much more amusement, and adjusts the collar of his pinstripe suit. “There’s a lot of them, lovelies. And many of the stories aren’t so pleasant.”  
“Swell!” says Arya, as Sansa gives her a distasteful look. The stories are unpleasant though, and Ed doesn’t want them hearing that – it’d scare them away from everyone. Although perhaps that’d be for the best… He’s relieved when Robert walks in, and he can wave him over and introduce him to his daughters.  
Robert had been a robust but fit man in his youth, always out on raids and smuggling missions. But, a large amount of the booze he carried had been emptied into his stomach, along with several large and meaty meals. He gets larger every time Eddard sees him. But he grins widely and joyfully at the sight of his old friend, and gives Eddard a bone crushing handshake.

Sansa had stopped paying attention to her father and Mr Baratheon when they began planning a trip to the city cemetery. She loves the past, pours over thickly bound history books, but she doesn’t feel the same warmth towards how it ends; corpses in the stinking ground. She hates the dirt, can’t imagine resting in it for eternity.  
She has been idly watching the city’s best instead. Men flit around, indistinguishable from one another with their sharply tilted hats and broad paces. But at tables around the room sit an array of glamorous women, which she watches with interest. Almost without realising, she copies the trailing of a cat-eyed woman’s hands, brings her hands up to her chin and rests there. The woman – although she is barely older than Sansa, barely more than a girl – catches her watching and gives a half bat of an eyelid which Sansa thinks might be a wink. She looks away quickly, a pink flush rising in her cheeks.  
She continues to look around the room, but doesn’t allow her gaze to settle on anyone in particular, although she does watch the barkeeper for a time, a woman who is tall and indelicate to look at, yet so skilled with mixing drinks that it’s almost hypnotising. However, as a tall, golden-haired woman makes her way towards them, Sansa looks back at her own table with interest. She is very beautiful, the woman, but her smirk seems cruel. Sansa thinks she may be a Lannister. They are notorious for both traits. She puts a hand on Mr Baratheon’s shoulder and slides into a seat next to him, and Sansa remembers that the Mafia King married high. This Lannister is too pretty for him – he’s disappointing, a drunkard and a fat one at that.  
“Cersei,” says Sansa’s father, smiling thinly; Sansa can tell he doesn’t feel any joy at seeing the woman. It’s alright though, because Cersei’s smirk doesn’t contain any warmth either. “It’s been too long.”  
“Mmm,” she says, with a vague wave of her long, pale fingers. “Hasn’t it just.”  
“Where’s the boy?” asks Mr Baratheon. Cersei gives the most charmingly nonchalant shrug Sansa has ever seen, and produces a thin cigarette and a lighter. It has her initials on it; ‘CL’. Her husband scowled at her indifference and was about to say something when ‘the boy’ arrived.  
Sansa caught her breath. He shared the coolness and golden hair with mother, and had none of the features of his father; none at all. She could not see this as a flaw. In fact, he seemed flawless to Sansa; perhaps the most handsome man she had ever seen. He was around a year or two older than her and so well dressed. She smiled as charmingly as she could at him, but he did not look at her, only his mother;  
“This is boring. I want to go.”  
Robert turned to Sansa’s father with a look of despair. “Ned, this is Joffrey.”


End file.
